


A Higher Plane

by axumun



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician)
Genre: Break Up, Falling In Love, M/M, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-11
Updated: 2013-07-11
Packaged: 2017-12-19 04:18:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/879374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/axumun/pseuds/axumun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which I am fashionably late in offering my version of events.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Higher Plane

**Author's Note:**

> Edited to fix stupid typos.

Every night is sweat and tears and music.  
every day; floating cities and setting suns,  
blurs of movement, flutters of conversation.  
I am suspended.

A night like any other:  
alcohol and empty promises.  
Nothing special, except the cold;  
my blood is ice.  
I make my way to him,  
to his sweet laughter, his sparkling eyes.  
I tap him on the shoulder.

We exchange:  
smiles,  
names,  
numbers,  
touches, kisses, dreams.

Something in my hands disintegrates;  
I was roaming blind,  
clutching a map.  
Now I follow him,  
and soon I will find my own way.

We reunite:  
five-star hotel rooms,  
restroom stalls,  
static on a wire.

He accepts me,  
inspires me.  
I keep him, protect him.  
When I take his hand,  
I can feel his heartbeat  
in his palm  
through his glove.  
I am rising.

I take him with me;  
the world is a burst of color and light  
when I am with him.  
He stays with me  
while I piece notes together like puzzles.

He is the sky,  
and a sunbeam.  
Sometimes I can't tell  
if we're dancing,  
or making love.

The darkness creeps in;  
it always does.  
I'm too tired,  
he's tired of waiting.  
Sometimes touch isn't enough;  
sometimes we need to talk.  
We don't want to talk.  
I am trembling.

We are going through the motions:  
["You hurt me."/  
"You hurt ME!"]  
Who did what,  
who takes what,  
who goes where.  
Barbed wire fences  
we wrap around our own hearts.  
It is our downfall.  
I am falling.

No;  
we are falling.

I reach out  
to catch him  
but he hits the ground first  
and everything becomes too real.  
Deadlines,  
and words locked behind barriers  
of language  
and political correctness.

Sometimes I still need him.  
Some days he calls me,  
but what's there to say,  
when our wildfire has become an ember  
and a storm cloud  
has suffocated  
my sunbeam?


End file.
